


Disgrace

by quaffanddoff



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Chasten is really a sweetheart I swear, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Homophobic Language, Humiliation kink, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Games, Set in the future, Surprise Ending, degradation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: Peter finds it hot when Chasten acts mean. To figure out why, the two undertake a hands-on investigation.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Disgrace

"You seriously thought you could be the President of the United States? _You?_ " 

Chasten's eyes were narrowed in a cold, harsh glare. His jaw was clenched, his mouth set in a hard line. Disgust was etched in his face. "Honestly, what the fuck were you thinking? You realize you have no future in politics, don't you? None. You're not going to be a governor. You're not going to be a senator. You may have lucked your way into one job through luck, ass-kissing, and probably some cheating, I'd bet. But you’re sure as hell never going to be _President_. You must be even stupider than you look if you seriously think you ever had a chance."

Chasten took a few steps closer until he was looming over Peter's chair. With his back straight, shoulders square, and arms crossed firmly over his chest, the effect was quite intimidating. "I mean, let's get real for a minute. You're a pansy. Who's gonna vote for a pathetic, limp-wristed sissy like you?"

Peter gazed up at this man who so resembled his husband, except that he lacked any trace of his husband's characteristically sweet and loving nature. Sometimes, when they played this game, it was hard to look directly at Chasten, who used his formidable acting abilities, honed by years of theater experience, to great effect. But he forced himself to maintain eye contact. It made everything feel more intense, more real. Peter sat completely motionless except for the slow, steady pump of his hand on his own achingly hard cock.

It was late at night after a long day, and exhaustion suffused Peter's body, making him feel vaguely weak and helpless. But at the same time, he felt powerfully stirred by Chasten's words. Paradoxically enough, the abuse thrilled him. Each insult, slur, and accusation sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins and a throb of arousal to his groin. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he couldn't deny the strength of the effect it had on him.

"The really fucked-up part is that you didn't even have the decency to keep your sick secret to yourself. You had to go and tell everyone. You chose to voluntarily torpedo all possibility of success. Boy, was that a smart move!" Chasten hooted sarcastically, making Peter flinch. "But you probably get off on everyone knowing, don't you? You actually _want_ the American public to have to picture you sucking and fucking other men. Just like how you got off on spying on straight men when you were in the military. You disgraced that uniform and now you want to disgrace this office. You want to prance around Washington, making a mockery of our government, turning our country into a joke."

Peter couldn't keep his eyes on Chasten's cruel expression any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. But he couldn't shut out the words, which continued to pierce him. 

His arousal ratcheted up higher and his fist on his cock picked up speed.

"You perverted, hopeless piece of shit. You monster. Your family must be ashamed. Your city deserved better than a goddamn homo. Your nation deserves better than a cocksucker like you," Chasten snarled, leaning in closer, spitting out the words like venom. 

Peter's teeth were gritted, sweat beading on his forehead, intense concentration on his face. His posture was rigid, muscles tensed. His face burned with humiliation and exertion. 

"A faggot president, can you even imagine? Getting his ass fucked in the White House. On his knees in the Oval Office, choking on the big fat dick shoved down his throat. Give me a fucking break! A fag like you for president? It'll never happen. Never."

Finally, finally, at the last word, Peter's orgasm crashed down on him. He came hard with a hoarse, desperate moan as his release was wrung from him, spurts shooting onto his own bare chest. The pained expression on his face gave way to unmistakable ecstasy, then eventually went slack in relief. He shuddered through the pulses, panting, chest heaving. 

“Oh my fucking God. Fuck, babe. Holy fuck.”

Chasten swooped down and wrapped his arms tight around his husband, heedless of the mess on his chest. He could feel Peter's heart racing. “You’re okay, baby. I got you. I’m here, love. I’m right here,” he murmured soothingly. 

The room was quiet besides the sound of Peter's ragged breath as he slowly came back down to earth. "You are... _way_ too good at that..."

Chasten gently kissed his cheek, then gave a sardonic wink. "Glad all those years of gay-bashing I had to go through are finally useful for something."

"Why is it so fucking hot when you talk like that?" Peter muttered, shaking his head in wonder.

"Maybe it has something to do with our surroundings?" Chasten suggested.

A smirk played upon Peter's lips he scanned the elegant room, taking in the portraits, the bookshelves, the seal on the carpet, the flags behind the desk, and the rest of the stately decor of the Oval Office. _His_ office. Not for the first time, he marveled at how far he had come and everything he had managed to accomplish. It was still a little unbelievable to think about where he had ended up. Maybe, in some strange way, he appreciated the chance to reflect on how unlikely the whole incredible journey really was. "Well, they certainly don't hurt."

They clung to each other for a few more minutes, catching their breath. Eventually, Chasten disengaged and stood up straight again. "All right, you've had your fun. Now it's my turn." The smile slipped off his face. His adoring look was replaced by the merciless, steely glare once more as he reached for his belt and slowly unfastened it. "Now, get on your fucking knees, Mr. President."


End file.
